Art
by Unicorns and Schist
Summary: "And you will see better and enrapturing masterpieces, before you see the one that trumps (and ends) them all." I have no summary for this, except that this is short, and a bit dark. I've warned you. Now a twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yes, call me mean, but I'm finally back. This thing is seriously short. ****Sorry for torturing you, I moved. **

**No, seriously, it's 399 words. Short.**

* * *

You pick up the silver object, mesmerized. You're drawn to it like it's a magnet for distressed souls (which in a way, it is).

You can just imagine the stark (and beautiful) contrast of red on pale peach that this thing can provide. It can be a new art, with a variety of shades of white, peach, and red. You turn the object over and over in your hands. You run a finger down the side of it, marveling at the craftsmanship. It helps you avoid the dark rubble that your mind has been reduced to.

You view your reflection on the shiny object, and notice how different your eyes look. They're dead, almost manic. They're no longer the shiny obsidian they used to be. It's strangely distracting, and you stop yourself from thinking about the cause of it. You examine the gaunt cheeks, which seem even paler from the silvery reflection. Their paleness make your dark circles around your eyes seem more prominent. Your black hair is greasy, and your hesitant curls keep falling into your eyes. You brush the curls back with your free hand, and glance at your pale, chapped lips. They look cracked (even more so than usual), and you can't help but muse at how needy and fragile human bodies are. At this point though, you know that human mental stability is even worse.

Even though this is your first time, you're not even close to hesitant as you lick your dry lips in anticipation. You can just see the beautiful art that you're sure you're going to create. You gently press down, as you run the sharp blade along your thin, pale arm. The thrill of being so close to death is electrifying. Just a little harder. Just a little closer. Just a little more insane. It's almost like you _like_ flirting with Thanatos.

You draw swirls and squiggles, and you love the beautiful red that blooms on your arm, tainting it forever. You look at your masterpiece appreciatively. You're disappointed you have to wash all that magnificent red off your arm, but you have to. You have always admired art, and this is the best piece you've seen yet. It is your first masterpiece, and you're sure there are better ones to come.

And you _will_ create better and enrapturing masterpieces, before you make the one that trumps (and ends) them all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I was honestly expecting for this to remain as a oneshot, but then this idea hit me, so I was like, ****_why not?_**** It's about the same length as the last one, just 30 extra (429, if you couldn't be bothered with maths). So, consider this a treat. **

**I'm sorry I haven't updated ****_Reminders_****, but it's summer here in Australia, and I've been enjoying my break. After all, I can't work the whole year. Sorry for the wait, or any inconveniences or something.**

**Enjoy, and try not to cry.**

* * *

You can feel the sweat trickle down your back as you block the hellhound's swipe of claws. You've never understood the saying, _I just saw my life flash before my eyes_. If it applied to you, you'd have relived your whole life by now.

The next hit almost connects, but you dodge, and duck and weave and swerve. Even _you_ are impressed by the fancy footwork. The hellhound bares his fangs in frustration. It lunges at you, ready to chomp your head off, but you block it with your stygian sword. As you do so, you catch a glimpse of one of your beautiful scars. You remember how the shiny blade cut into your pale olive skin, producing a thin line of magnificent red...

The hound catches you while you're reminiscing, and you just barely dash out of the way. You remember the scar again, and you recognize a warm wetness on your cheek, but you brush it off like it's dust, and you keep drifting off into space. Your body goes onto autopilot as you weave through the hellhound's legs, and get a lucky slice to its thigh. However, it's not enough to turn the monster into dust.

You have finally found a worthy opponent. Maybe this time, just this time, it would be enough to end your pain -

You forget what you were thinking about as you recall the beautiful blood seeping through your flesh, and onto your skin. The contrast of it captures your attention, and you don't think about what you're doing.

_Stab (miss), sidestep, lunge (blocked), duck, swerve-_

You lose track of time as you continue dueling with the monster.

_Oh, come on, I want more blood, more pain, more blood, more pai-_

You barely feel the golden dust raining down on your face (_why is monster remains more like fairy dust?)_ You come back to the real world with a dumbstruck expression, with tears trickling down your face. You hadn't realized that you were crying while you were fighting. You struggle to recall what happened when you were busy imagining. You remember flashes - grunts, attacks and defensive stances.

You're suddenly hit with the mental picture of the stricken, pained face of the hellhound as it turns to dust. The face was so sad, but a littlerelieved ... Almost like it _wanted_ to die, but when it was happy.

You know that you don't want to end up like that monster. You vow to yourself silently that you'll _never_ be like that monster. You want to die on your own terms.

And, as it turns out, you keep that vow.


End file.
